


the one and the few

by UniversalSatan



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Analysis, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Perceived Character Death, Extended Scene, M/M, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Poetry, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, True Love, mcspirk if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniversalSatan/pseuds/UniversalSatan
Summary: “No matter the endeavor, I will always be by your side.”“And I’ve always been terrified to lose you,” he whispered. “If I did, I would cross the universe and back, tear our very reality apart in search of you.”“Even then, I shall be with you.”initially an analysis of the implications behind "the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few" and its variants, exploring the dynamics of the relationship between kirk and spock (spoilers for st:wok and st:sfs)
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Old Married Spirk





	the one and the few

**Author's Note:**

> this is called Lucy Forgot The Novelizations Existed And Also Wanted To Write An Essay About The Function Of Certain Quotes (also, because of my dumb hatred for the number 17—my work count—i needed to write something else to post with my... spock analysis fic (JUST kidding, didn't finish that yet, it's something worse now)). so. yeah!!! i haven't read the novelizations yet so idk how close i've hit it, but there's also Extra, Gayer Scenes! and a sprinkle of implied mcspirk because i canNOT write an analysis on the movies without mentioning it.  
> for funsies, after probably more than a year, i decided to try and write in past tense again. so. uh. if it's a bit stilted, i apologize. also, apparently oms challenge is happening now, and i thought this would be a perfect lil addition.
> 
> big thanks to [pines](https://magicalweirdism.tumblr.com/) who actually went through this and helped me smooth out some wrinkles, and [VTsuion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion) for helping me with some plot things (and for realizing that there's about a decade that passes between TMP and TWOK.....)!!

“We have a problem.”

Kirk had been stuck inside of his head for far too long within the past hour. He felt like he had floated all the way to his destination, like the dissonance and the bustle of the crewmembers swarming around him in the halls were naught but a blur. Kirk didn’t even realize where he was headed, having let his legs steer him of their own volition.

It’s no surprise that he found himself standing in the middle of Captain Spock’s quarters; in fact, being there almost made more sense than if Kirk had found himself in his own.

Spock, rising softly from his meditative state, had opened his eyes and met Kirk’s gaze at his entrance. He raised his eyebrows and canted his head as if in surprise, but Kirk knew better than that: the gesture was more so an encouragement, rather than a question.

“Something… may be wrong in Regula I, we’ve been ordered to investigate.”

Kirk still felt light-years away, mirrored in the warped image of himself within the ethereal nimbus behind Spock’s head, at the end of the star-like lights that stretched out beyond the glass. 

Spock’s face hardened slightly into a frown, and his hands collapsed from their meditative position so that his fingers were woven together.

“If memory serves,” he began, shifting in thought, “Regula I is a scientific research laboratory.”

“I told Starfleet command that all we had was…” Kirk rushed on, like it was something he just needed to get _off_ his chest, before hesitating, “... ‘boatload of… _children_ .” He stared down at the floor, beneath where Spock knelt, forcing himself to slow down and simply _get to the point_. “But…” he glanced up to the Captain, “we’re the only ship in the quadrant.”

There was always something about the vulcan that brought a level-headedness about Kirk, and even though he felt like he was on the edge of a precipice, teetering on a line he didn’t quite yet know how to cross, the calm and stoic repose he was currently being met with allowed him to ground himself and let down his shields. In fact, this recollection of his security was what led him to step forward (though, with his eyes following the ground) and into the frame, centering himself in that damned looking glass like it was the portrait of some detached and faded Starfleet hero: a distant memory hung up on the wall, a piece of his very own collection Bones had said of which he’d become a part.

Kirk was getting old, and he didn’t need another reminder: his focus was on Spock and Spock alone.

“Spock, these… cadets of yours — _how good are they?_ How will they respond under _real_ pressure?”

Though the tone had reverted to being more personal now, there was quite an irony to the notion of distracting oneself from the reminder of getting old by discussing how much their students (children, in a sense, as if they already weren’t married enough) had grown. Still, there were other worries Kirk deemed essential to address, so he fixed and focused his gaze on the wise man before him.

“As with all living things: each according to his gifts,” Spock replied, a reassuring smile etched into his features. “Of course,” he then added on with a nod, “this ship is yours.”

He should’ve known better, known how easily Spock could read him like a book. It was not an uncommon notion that Kirk was married to his job — or, in particular, to the _Enterprise_. Indeed, any serious relationships Kirk had had in the past were ended (such as with Carol) and even entered (as with Lori) with the understanding that his position as a captain of the _Enterprise_ always came foremost. But really, it was more than that: there was a bond that he had developed with his ship and crew in deep space that was unparalleled to anything else one woman could offer.

(And of course, they were unparalleled to the bond that he had developed with an individual that easily accommodated everything of import to Kirk, as, in a sense, not only was the individual in question already a part of that collective, but also shared in those bonds.)

Just for a moment, Kirk was tempted to embrace the invitation.

Kirk’s hand flew up, promptly halting that train of thought. “No, that won’t be necessary.” Stepping forward, he strayed to the left as if meaning to lean against the wall, playing with his fingers as he moved and turned beside Spock; at least, now, he was somewhat hidden from the mirror, so immature and unsure compared to the strong image of the vulcan only a touch away. “Just get me to Regula I.” In his nervous pacing, he had failed to notice how Spock’s expression had shifted to one of frustration.

At this proximity, Spock had to tilt his chin up to meet Kirk’s eyes from where he was kneeling… yet there was nothing about him whatsoever that suggested this height difference was a bother. (... At least not to Spock).

“As a teacher—on a training mission—I am content to command the _Enterprise_ . If we ought to go on actual duty, it is clear that the senior officer on board _must_ assume command.”

“It may be nothing,” Kirk interjected, wary at how Spock acted like it was obvious the Admiral was above him. He floundered, waving a hand about and looking anywhere but the vulcan as he sought out a means to communicate that he _really wasn’t that important_ . “Garbled communications,” was a decent excuse. Kirk pursed his lips, nodding and pointing to his friend. “ _You_ take the ship-”

“ _Jim_.”

Kirk had to bite his tongue to stop protesting, but really… a part of it came from the soft endearment underlying Spock’s tone; Kirk didn’t think he would ever really get used to Spock saying his name like that despite being together for so many years — especially with such fond ease. It was the use of his name that made Kirk realize they weren’t just talking about cadets and Starfleet regulation anymore.

“You proceed from a false assumption,” Spock continued. “I am a vulcan; I have no ego to bruise.”

A wave of tender affection that Kirk had felt with increasing frequency after the V’ger Incident washed over him, and he was rendered speechless for a moment as he gazed back at Spock.

 _The V’ger Incident_ … yes, quite profound indeed. Spock’s sudden decision to pursue Kolinahr was a shock to everyone, and while Kirk had tried to understand and respect his choice… he didn’t realize what he had until it was gone. When Spock returned to the _Enterprise_ , severe yet stunning in his ceremonial robes, everyone had struggled with his relapse in demeanor, struggled to be faced with the reality that all the emotional capacity the half-vulcan had developed over their five-year mission had simply _vanished…_ but not Kirk. No: Kirk was not too slow to miss the brief hesitation after he welcomed him aboard. All things considered, he found it terribly ironic that it was the cry for help from a living machine that pulled Spock away from the absolute purge of his emotions.

And then there was the revelation of that ‘simple feeling’. _That simple feeling_ . All desperation to seek out a universal constant, a universal truth, was _gone_ from Spock’s expression, and whatever mental exhaustion he was undergoing was vastly overshadowed by his sublime bliss. Spock had grabbed his arm and taken his hand, and Kirk grasped back, securing his other hand on top of their embrace, being so addicted to the sensation overwhelming his conscious… Spock shook their connected hands, talking about ‘ _this simple feeling_ ’ that coursed between them, and Kirk wanted to piece it all apart, break it all down because he wasn’t sure exactly _which one_ Spock was talking about… but, really, it was simpler than that. Kirk was almost appalled that it took him so long, but it was in that moment that everything between them slid into place, where, despite being two wholly separate and unique individuals, they were part of the same entity, their minds unconditionally aligned. They finally understood the final barrier that kept them apart all the time they grew to know each other, finally understood how to breach that final rift; they did, in fact, come together in every facet possible after that profound realization, being wed and exploring the potential of the precious bond between them.

Spock had reached an all-encompassing understanding most only wish to encounter within their lifetimes, and out of the experience, he became entirely in harmony with himself, balanced between what made him vulcan and what made him human; Kirk could see it in the way he unashamedly teased his cadets, how he indulged the temptation to get on Bones’s nerves… even in every tender and tantalizing interaction he had with Kirk, there was an unshakeable sturdiness about him that far surpassed the zenith of any self-confidence he developed during their five-year mission.

The fondness at the recollection of Spock’s growth swelled so rapidly in his chest that Kirk couldn’t contain his smile, so, in an effort to quell it (this was not the time — there were more important matters at hand), he pushed himself off the wall and turned away, pacing back to the center of the room.

“You’re about to remind me that logic alone?, dictates your actions?”

“I would not remind you of that which you know so well,” Spock said easily. There came a warmth, tingling at the back of Kirk’s head, and his heart thudded in his ribcage. “If I may be so bold, it was a mistake for you to accept promotion.”

Kirk, staring off into the far corner of the room without really looking at anything, teetered slightly with his breath: Spock knew well what Kirk was skirting around, and paired with what Bones had told him earlier, the night of his birthday — he _yearned_ . He ached with his entire being. There was nothing more that he wanted to do than to go back to the days of the five-year mission, sit in the Captain’s seat and pilot the _Enterprise_ out into the great unknown… but what was done was done. What is fieldwork to prestige and honour? _And why_ , Kirk thought, _must my reward be delivered in paperwork and an inflated title?_

“Commanding a starship is your first, best destiny.”

He knew this. Kirk _knew_ this… but what stopped him? _What kept him grounded, what kept his wings clipped?_

Though he had his back to Spock’s meditation alcove and could not see it, Kirk was no longer framed in the looking glass.

“Anything else… is a waste of material.”

Kirk huffed, his lip twitching as he internally laughed at himself and looked to the side, away from the still-kneeling vulcan. He knew Spock was right, of course, realistically speaking, but he still hesitated to cave and accept Spock’s selfless preposition.

“I wouldn’t have presumed to debate you,” he responded lightly, though he continued to avoid meeting Spock face-to-face. 

Spock raised an eyebrow, and then: “ _That is wise_.”

Taken aback by the jest, Kirk turned, gazing upon his t’hy’la with undeniable warmth etched into his features: the curved slope of his eyes that revealed the beginnings of crow’s feet, the tender smile that ached with the affection it withheld. Sometimes it was the most inane of comments that reminded Kirk so bluntly of the endearment in which he held for the vulcan.

“In any case,” Spock then continued, expression returning to its deliberate state, “were I to invoke logic, logic clearly dictates… that the needs of the _many_ outweigh the needs of the _few_.”

At the return of the topic he had been so desperate to avoid, something diminished within Kirk. Though he knew Spock was trying to make a point, say something about how _Kirk_ was critical to the process… he was, in turn, downplaying his own abilities, ignoring his own potential simply to appease Kirk’s illogical whims. The notion was… selfish, which was why Kirk had been trying to avoid succumbing to the temptation Spock had been offering.

Kirk was a selfless man—this quality, in fact, was what made him such a respectable Captain—but he was also getting old. Too old. _Past his prime_.

“Or the one,” he reminded Spock softly, letting himself admit to his shortcomings out loud.

Spock stared at the Admiral for a moment, face blank but mind undoubtedly arriving to a conclusion. A decision must’ve been reached because he finally made a move to get to his feet, to gracefully unwind himself from his meditative posture and to clasp his hands behind his back as he stood in front of Kirk, meeting him eye-to-eye at last. There was a gentle sureness about his disposition, as if he had finally understood what Kirk needed to hear.

“You are my superior officer. You are also my friend. I have been and always shall be yours.”

He… did not see himself below the Admiral. Rather, in his odd, vulcan way, he had rationalized that his position in this universe was to be dependent, to be wholly and unconditionally loyal to Kirk. Kirk—who had fought all of his life for his independence, his individuality and his uniqueness—did not entirely understand the notion… but that did not mean he couldn’t accept it.

After all, at the end of the day, he was wholly and unconditionally Spock’s.

All at once, Kirk felt his unease crumble away, his shoulders fall and his face ease into his warm gaze. On the inside, something shaky reverberated throughout him, and the niggling warmth at the back of his head gently reached out, like it was offering some form of support. His head bowed at the overwhelming sensation of relief, and he swayed forward, magnetized to the sturdy force in front of him.

Kirk always had his human doubts, constantly fretting over being praised as something bigger than he actually was, but being wed to his first officer and best friend provided him with both the support he needed and the outlet to be himself, unrestrained. (And this relationship went both ways, as even Spock would let his shields down around Kirk, letting himself be known in return). The five-year mission already nurtured the bond between them, developing the bud of a love that was incomparable to anything else in the universe, but within the past decade of their marriage, they were able to revel in what they believed to be the full potential of their relationship, forever growing more in tune with the other in an asymptotic curve.

Somehow sensing his descent, Spock’s hands were by his sides, catching and propping Kirk up against his chest. At some point, Kirk’s hands had flown up to catch himself, palms resting between the two of them on Spock’s robes.

“It’s not like you have to be,” Kirk murmured in afterthought, letting himself rest his cheek on Spock’s shoulder. Though awkwardly (Spock had never entirely gotten used to the intricacies of physical contact), he rubbed his thumbs against Kirk’s arms, and Kirk could feel the tension slowly ebb away.

“It is what I wish.”

Pushing himself off so that he could meet the eyes of his t’hy’la, his gaze flickered downwards, lowering his mental shields as an offering. Minutely, Spock nodded before he closed his eyes, and Kirk pressed forward, catching lips with his own and lingering. They reached out to each other through their bond, reveling simply in the presence of their other half; the touch was like floating over calm waters, moving and swaying gently over the lulling waves. 

Kissing Spock was easy—a second nature—like reaching out to warm your hands by a crackling fire, or breathing the crisp mountain air deeply amidst the wilderness of a pine forest. It had become a part of his life just as much as reading hardcovers before bed or shopping for groceries every other Saturday afternoon had.

Kirk pulled away with a sigh. Another thing he had lost from the five-year mission was the mere time he spent with his crew — Spock included. They would try to coordinate, try to spend time in Kirk’s apartment just to do paperwork in each other’s presence, but it simply didn’t have the same effect. His fingers curled into Spock’s robe, and his melancholic message must have translated.

“I have missed you most dearly, my beloved.”

Kirk laughed softly. “It’s been too long,” he agreed. 

Spock’s hand had crawled up his arm, coaxing Kirk’s fingers away from his garment. Kirk let himself be moulded, reaching up to brush his fingertips underneath Spock’s chin as the vulcan’s dexterous fingers explored his own with feather-light touch. Even with the comforting touch of his beloved, the pending and possible obstacles in the light of their training mission had yet to simply _disappear_.

“Don’t you _worry?_ ” Kirk whispered, blatantly staring down at where their hands touched. “These kids… they’re all your children. What if… What if there _is_ something wrong? They’re so inexperienced, have no idea what it’s _really_ like out there… What if something _happens_ to them?”

“This is why I entrust command to you; there is no one else in which I confide more.”

“But do you _worry?”_

Kirk traced his fingers up and down Spock’s jaw, letting them be caught by lips as Spock closed his eyes and kissed them.

Communication was always an aspect of relationships that Kirk valued highly, especially when realizing the lack thereof between him and Spock during their first five-year mission, in retrospect. While he couldn’t be vulcan in his ways, Kirk did his best to be candid where it mattered… but he had more than enough experience to understand that sometimes it is the truth that ends up eliciting the most pain. At that moment, he was not sure of what exactly he was so afraid of, but perhaps it had something to do with Spock being anything other than the strong anchor to which he could cling as the tide threatened to pull him off his feet.

“It is not logical to worry,” Spock said at last, and Kirk smiled at the teasing lilt in his tone, “which is why I attempt to divert that energy towards the search for a solution.”

“And if there are none?”

There was a smug prod in their bond. “ _As you are so keen on illustrating,_ there is no such thing as a _‘no-win scenario’_.”

Kirk couldn’t help the breathy laugh, couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered shut as he shifted his hand to cup Spock’s cheek and lean in, smiling against his lips. _To have his own words used against him…_ Spock’s hand covered Kirk’s own, slipping down to tease the sensitive skin under his wrist.

“I worry too much,” Kirk admitted, resting his forehead against Spock’s. “And I’m getting old — it’s not good for me.”

He could feel Spock’s eyebrow raise. “You still have many years of age, in your physiological state.”

Kirk scoffed lightly. " _Hate to admit it,_ but a lot of an Admiral’s work doesn’t feel much like living.”

Spock hummed, only partially understanding the sentiment. “Is there anything in particular with which you are worried?”

“Everything,” Kirk mumbled, vaguely. He twisted his hand so that their fingertips could meet. “Nothing in particular.”

Aligning their fingers into a salute, Spock nodded absentmindedly. “No matter the endeavor, I will always be by your side.” 

“And I’ve always been terrified to lose you,” he whispered. “If I did, I would cross the universe and back, tear our very reality apart in search of you.”

“Even then, I shall be with you.” His other hand danced up Kirk’s jaw and lingered near his psi points. “Parted from me and never parted; never and always touching and touched.”

“Once and forever mine,” Kirk breathed.

“Have been and always shall be.”

“And I, yours.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Don’t grieve, Admiral.” His voice was rough, his altruism his downfall. “It is logical.”

Kirk wanted to listen, wanted to obey, but he couldn’t find any logic in the situation: _what’s so logical about being able to see and to hear and to reach for but not to touch?_

“The needs of the many… outweigh…”

Spock bowed his head, closing his unseeing eyes and struggling to wade through the agony to complete his phrase.

“... The needs of the few,” Kirk finished for him. Spock nodded.

In the grand scheme of things, Spock had saved them all: if they hadn’t regained warp speed, no one would have survived.

Indeed, the needs of the many were greater than that of Kirk’s and—

“Or the one.”

Spock’s. _Alone_. He was alone in death, trapped by a thin layer of plexiglass… and Kirk couldn’t do anything about it.

_Spock saw his life as less important than anyone else’s._

He began to collapse; a white glove stopped his descent, propping him up against the barrier between him and Kirk. Because of how suddenly it moved, Kirk jolted, moving to catch Spock before being reminded of just how helpless he stood.

“I never took… the Kobayashi Maru test… until now…” Spock tilted his head up, as if to meet Kirk eye-to-eye. “What do you think… of my solution?”

 _This wasn’t fair._ Kirk looked around, searching for something, _anything_ , to tell him that he was dreaming. Emotions bubbled up into his throat, but nothing would spill out, leaving him choked as he opened and closed his mouth.

_Didn’t you say there was no such thing as a no-win scenario?_

“Spock...”

Shaking his head, Spock winced, finally easing himself lower so he could kneel on the ground. Kirk mirrored him the entire way, following him like a shadow Spock wouldn’t even be able to see. With parted lips, Kirk gazed at him, drinking in every last living and breathing moment Spock had left, terrified that even one second would slip from his memory.

Breathing past the buildup in his throat that damaged his voice beyond anything else, Spock turned to Kirk in the hopes to address him directly:

“I have been…”

Kirk leaned forward… _closer_.

“... and always shall be… _your friend_.”

Kirk wanted to cry… some part of himself almost believed that he should be crying, but he couldn’t. There wasn’t anything there.

Spock’s hand—now free of the glove—thudded against the barrier, poised in a vulcan salute. Kirk’s eyes were drawn to it, staring at the greeting in shock.

“Live long… and prosper.”

It was a useless endeavor—Kirk _knew_ this—but his hand rose of its own accord, pressing against the glass as if it would somehow, _by some miracle_ , feel even the heat of Spock’s own. He couldn’t touch him, couldn’t _feel_ him… he could only watch as his t’hy’la succumbed to the radiation poisoning.

Even as he kept his hand there—his only tether to Spock—the hand across the barrier fell along with its host, who sat limp against the glass. Kirk, turning to look down where he lay, set both of his hands upon the barrier, wishing for nothing more to reach through the last inch between them and pull the vulcan’s body into his arms, to hold him and to rock him to sleep, promising that everything would be alright come morning.

“ _No_ ,” came the grieve from the broken man.

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love  
Of those who were older than we—  
Of many far wiser than we—  
And neither the angels in Heaven above  
Nor the demons down under the sea  
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; _

The last of what he was crumbled to dust, and he was empty — he was empty inside. He was alone in his head—abandoned even by his thoughts—and the silence tolled louder than a thousand bells.

On each side of the barrier, two men sat, reflected in balanced contrast; one sat dead with empty eyes, and the other breathed no longer.

_For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side  
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,  
In her sepulchre there by the sea—  
In her tomb by the sounding sea. _

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_There are always possibilities—Spock said—and if Genesis is indeed… life from death… I must return to this place again._

Kirk gazed openly at the image of Spock’s burial pod in awe, watching how its burning descent through the atmosphere peeked around Genesis like brilliant dawn, brighter than all the stars in the universe around it.

There was something on the tip of his tongue, some sort of comment he wanted to make, but as he turned to Bones and Dr. Marcus, words already on his lips, he saw them already staring at him, beaming knowingly and blinking back to where Genesis was displayed when caught.

“He’s really not dead,” Bones murmured, clear blue eyes shining with the light of the screen, “as long as we remember him.” 

Now that he was looking ahead, he seemed to be searching for something — perhaps searching for the truth in his own words. Kirk’s attention flickered back to the viewer, seeking out whatever caught Bones’s eye.

_I would cross the universe and back, tear our very reality apart in search of you._

_Even then, I shall be with you._

Kirk inhaled, grasping for the words he had read over and over again as he traced his fingertips over the worn ink, but had never truly understood. 

“ _It’s a far… far better thing I do than I have ever done before._ ” He rested his chin on his hands in child-like wonder, staring down and reading words that weren’t there. “ _A far… better resting place I go to… than I have ever known._ ”

_Selfish or selfless; a cry for redemption or a sacrifice to save the lover of an unrequited love?_

“Is that a poem-?” Dr. Marcus began to ask before Kirk promptly corrected her.

“No,” he said. “Something Spock was trying to tell me.” And then, in disbelief: “on my _birthday_.”

Bones had turned to face him as he spoke, and his expression had morphed to one of concern. “You okay, Jim?” he asked, gently. “How do you feel?”

Kirk gazed up at the beautiful spectacle before him, the odd paradox of life and death laid out in perfect harmony. Blinking in awe, he felt his heart swell, how it wanted to soar and weep at the same time.

“Young,” he found himself saying. “I feel _young_.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Do not stand at my grave and weep  
I am not there. I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow.  
I am the diamond glints on snow.  
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning’s hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
I am not there. I did not die. _

Mary Elizabeth Frye

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Your son meant more to me than you could know; I’d’ve given my life if it would’ve saved his.”

Kirk understood that vulcans feel emotion—and especially over the death of a family member—but to accuse Kirk of something that he had _tried—_ well, that he _would’ve_ done in the blink of an eye had he known… it was borderline cruel. He felt frustrated, exhausted beyond anything he’d ever felt before, but when Sarek asked to join his mind, he readily accepted; the hope was a matchlight in the open tundra, and Kirk had not seen the sunlight in a thousand years.

A mindmeld like this was never something he had encountered before: try as he did to clean up the mess, his thoughts were a whirlwind of broken glass, blunted over time but cluttered and painful nonetheless… not to mention the fact that Kirk had only really melded with Spock, and to try and allow a stranger to peruse his head while in this state… He was like a boy again, timid and relenting to Sarek’s lead.

The meld snapped them together, and Kirk wasn’t alone anymore, shoving away insignificant but cluttered memories out of the way.

“He spoke of your friendship,” Sarek murmured, diplomatic as always. 

“Yes.”

“Hm. Asked you not to grieve.”

Kirk’s eyes began to open, staring out in front of himself as he began to see what to which Sarek had previously been referring. “Yes.”

“The needs… of the many… outweigh…“

“The needs of the few,” Kirk recited, voice beginning to waver as everything flooded back.

_I never took… the Kobayashi Maru test… until now; what do you think… of my solution?_

“Or the one.”

 _As you are so keen on illustrating, there is no such thing as a ‘no-win scenario’_.

“... _Spock_.”

_Even then, I shall be with you._

“I have been… and always shall be… _your friend_.”

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
I am not there. I did not die. _

“Live long… and prosper.”

Sarek’s mind brushed carefully over the distressed bond, seeking any semblance of life from the connection; all he was met with was silence and the dull ache of agony, muted compared to what Kirk endured at every waking and unwaking moment.

“ _No…_ ”

Kirk hardly realized that Sarek was pulling away, so caught up in the wave of emotion he had carefully tucked away since Spock’s death. His sheer grief was reflected in the vulcan before him to only a small degree, and Sarek gulped and lowered his eyes at the understanding of what he had done.

“Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head. “It is not here.” A sigh. “I had assumed he had mind-melded with you; it is the vulcan way, when the body’s end is near.”

Kirk was almost too stunned to answer. “We were separate.” All that was left of the matchlight now was a fading waft of smoke. “He couldn’t touch me.”

“I see.”

In a slow daze, Kirk barely mustered enough energy to meet Sarek’s eyes once again.

“Then everything that he was,” Sarek continued, “everything he knew… is lost.”

He looked over Kirk once more before completely closing himself off, externally satisfied with this closure and standing to leave.

The bond… _his_ bond with his t’hy’la that he had not touched in a while, having set aside the pain to cope: there was a silence to it, a low buzz of agony… but there was never exactly an _absence_ . _The bond had never been entirely severed._

“ _Please_ wait.”

Sarek stopped in his path and turned, already halfway to the door. 

“He would’ve found a way,” Kirk said, working through a theory as he spoke, “if there was that much at stake.” He looked over to Sarek, a hint of a flame already dancing in his spirit. “Spock _would_ have found a way.”

“Yes,” Sarek agreed, “but _how?_ ”

There was always one they had trusted implicitly, always one who stayed closer to their side than anyone else. It had taken long enough for Kirk and Spock to reach out to each other, to grasp at each other’s hand and revel in _that simple feeling_ … perhaps Spock had thought Kirk would be quicker on the uptake than he had been, basking in his grief.

In retrospect, Kirk felt like an idiot: the signs were clear as a bell.

“What if he joined with someone else?”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I’m alright, Jim.”

There was a shakiness to his step, and he was leaning against Sarek ever so slightly as he announced his state, but Kirk _had_ to believe him. They were all tired, exhausted to the bone, and while he knew he should’ve expressed more concern, his heart thudded in anticipation of someone else.

After this was over, they’d all have a lot to talk about, anyhow.

Though his stare lingered for a second longer, Bones stepped away, following the rest of the procession with his eyes to the ground.

Sarek stepped in his place, already seeming to foresee Kirk’s question.

“What about Spock?” Kirk said, edging on desperation.

Looking him up and down, Sarek regarded him with his usual vulcan repose, forcing Kirk to acknowledge his human impatience. In a vain attempt to calm himself, Kirk shifted the weight on his feet and looked past Sarek.

“Only _time_ ,” Sarek said, “will answer.”

Up on the terrace, the individual in question stood with his back to Kirk, clad in white ritual robes that the vulcan monks arranged on his figure. 

_Purity, rebirth_.

Perhaps it was the thinner air, but his head felt like it was spinning.

“Kirk—” Kirk’s eyes flickered back to Sarek. “I thank you. What you have _done_ , is—”

“What I have done,” Kirk corrected him, steadying himself, “I had to do.”

“At what cost?” He almost sounded scornful, but that couldn’t be the case… _what was there to doubt?_ “Your _ship_." _The one to which you were married._ "Your _son_.”

“If I hadn’t tried,” Kirk held his stare, “the cost would’ve been my soul.”

Sarek regarded him in full again, really drinking in his words. Perhaps he grasped the barest understanding at last of the extent to which his son meant to Kirk, because he nodded and fell at ease, walking away as Kirk’s attention already left him.

Flanked by two of the vulcan priests, Spock began to follow the procession, keeping his head down and his hands clasped as he moved. He passed where Kirk stood and Kirk turned with him, following his departing figure; unlike Bones and unlike Sarek, Spock did not turn to him, and Kirk quelled the illogical longing that tugged at his soul.

Slowing to a stop on the stairs that climbed the mountain, Spock halted the procession. He swivelled gradually where he stood, expression deep in thought for a few moments until his hands rose to lift the hood off of his head. His hair was untidy and a fatigue lined his face, but he turned, silent, to finally look back at where Kirk stood, nothing but a blank slate.

Kirk didn’t dare hope, didn’t dare push the limits of whether or not Spock was alright.

And still, ever so slightly, Spock’s brow furrowed.

Leaving the paused procession and climbing back down the steps, his expression remained hardened, one only those well-versed in vulcan microexpressions could recognize as confusion and frustration. Everyone watched as he made his way to the line of his comrades to the side, studying them one by one.

First, Saavik. The stress of both the mission and the ritual must have tired her, for the slip in her composure allowed a soft gasp to pass through. Nonetheless, there was no recognition in Spock’s stare, so she closed her mouth and bowed her head in mild embarrassment. Spock moved on.

Scotty, with his astounded but proud gaze.

Uhura, with her silent joy and relief.

Chekov, with his stunned gape.

Sulu, with his prying, shocked eyes.

Even Bones—he who had carried the vulcan’s katra with much expense—mirrored the severe expression he was given.

And though he lingered the most on the doctor, Spock could not find the recognition he sought.

He stopped in front of Kirk, only a step away, like they were the only two people in existence.

Unlike Spock, there was a sense of urgency in Kirk’s eyes, as if he were scouring every inch of Spock’s demeanor for even a flicker of familiarity.

Spock settled in his footing, child-like in his curiosity.

“My father says that you have been my friend,” he spoke at last, as if there was something he wasn’t comprehending. His voice was… heart-wrenchingly familiar, compared to the roughness from the radiation poisoning; it felt like returning home after being lost for many months. “You came back for me.”

Kirk thought back to conversations before all this happened, before Spock was… gone. (Missing).

(Lost).

_No matter the endeavor, I will always be by your side._

“You would’ve done the same for me,” he replied with ease.

Spock straightened drastically, as if it occurred to him that there was something very important between them… something very important that he _couldn’t quite remember_.

“ _Why_ would you do this?” he asked, leaning fractionally closer.

_Because Spock was infinitely more important than he ever led himself to believe._

“Because the needs of the one… outweighed the needs of the many.”

Trying to comprehend the statement, Spock looked down, and Kirk tilted his head ever so slightly, leaning in closer, as if to follow his gaze. When Spock, still puzzled, turned away to leave (like water, slipping through his fingers), Kirk blinked, as if shaking himself from the reverie he dared to dream. 

Nevertheless, the vulcan only got a few steps away before he stopped again, biting his lip in concentration as he only partially turned back around. Kirk had only seen the quirk on very rare occasions, but still he refused to bare his vulnerability yet again, steeling himself for whatever questions to which he may be subjected next.

Spock returned Kirk’s stare, agitated and unsure in his stance as he grasped for words.

“I have been… and ever shall be…” his face lifted in muted triumph, “... your friend.”

“Yes…” Kirk began, anticipation filling every part of his being with such intensity that he took a step forward. “ _Yes_ , Spock.”

Not breaking their eye contact this time, Spock shifted, turning himself to fully face Kirk and inching closer. “The ship. Out of danger?” The phrases came tumbling from his lips, like he wasn’t entirely cognizant of what he was saying.

“You _saved_ the ship.” Kirk could feel his desperation rising, but he could hardly bring himself to care. “You _saved us all_ .” Spock’s face remained frustratingly blank. “Don’t you _remember?_ ”

Spock searched his surroundings, grasping for _anything_ in his scrambled head that would give him _some_ sort of clue— and then confidence filled his posture. Holding Kirk’s gaze, he tread forward with intention, lips parted. Kirk stared back openly, his expression an open book as he searched for _something_ . _Anything_.

“ _Jim_.”

There was a vulnerability being reflected back at him.

“Your _name…_ is _Jim_.”

Jim melted, so overwhelmed by the raw emotion that the upturn of his lips was laced with delicate wonder, his eyes wide and gleaming. There had been a point where he didn’t believe he would ever get used to Spock saying his name like that, but the reverence in which he proclaimed his name, like it was the most important thing in the universe… there was nothing death nor life could recreate to parallel the passion.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, grinning so wide he feared it would split his face in two. Almost immediately, Spock straightened himself, seemingly trying to collect himself from the slip in display of emotion, but the act was so familiar that Jim couldn’t bring himself to care.

When he swivelled to take another look at his crew, Bones was there first, already sharing a secret smile as he bowed his head, eyes holding their bright-blue stare, and tapped his temple knowingly. 

And with that, it was like a dam breaking, where all the crew rushed to meet him with radiant smiles on their faces, reaching out to touch him to confirm that he really _was_ living and breathing. Spock turned back to him one last time in the commotion while Jim was looking him up and down in disbelief, and it was like something had fallen back into place, how easily their non-verbal communication transmitted between them; Jim almost sobbed with joy. 

Because there he stood, returned _home_ , with his family surrounding him and by his side… staring back at Jim with a profound love he thought had been lost forevermore.

There was a point, later, when Jim had Spock all to himself for once (and just this once, he’d allow himself to be selfish) that Spock tilted his head and queried him.

“You said you were terrified to lose me,” he stated with the child-like curiosity he had adopted since his resurrection.

Setting down his hardcover, marking his page with a finger, Jim gazed back at the vulcan softly. “I also told you I’d cross the universe and back, tearing our very reality apart to find you.” Spock straightened again, processing this information.

_The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few._

But sometimes, there was a case where the needs of the few outweighed the needs of the many.

It took Jim a long time to realize that there was never really just _‘one’_ : Spock was always at his side, and he was always at Spock’s. Not only that, but getting Spock back was more important to their entire crew than anything they had back at Starfleet. 

It was never just about ‘ _the one_ ’... _because they were never alone._

“I have missed you most dearly, my beloved.”

Jim blinked up to where his t’hy’la was standing, only a few paces away. Smiling, he lifted himself from where he sat, moving slowly to take Spock’s hands in his; reunited, they were finally whole.

_ They would never be alone. _

“And I, you, my love. I have been and always shall be yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> the other poem used is the last two verses of Edgar Allen Poe's _Annabel Lee_  
>  and yes, i KNOW this is the second time i've used do not stand at my grave and weep in a fic, but to be fair... it _works_
> 
> [i'm jimtitkirk on tumblr](https://jimtitkirk.tumblr.com/)
> 
> you can also find me on my [main blog](https://universalsatan.tumblr.com/) and my [writing blog](https://celestialberries.tumblr.com/) (coffee?).


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